


Sleepless

by prose_goddess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Toll, Fear, Gen, Horror, Hurt, Just generally a scary fic, Mentions of alcohol, Supernatural - Freeform, Terror, Thriller, mentions of burning, mentions of suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prose_goddess/pseuds/prose_goddess
Summary: Hunting can take its toll.
Kudos: 2





	Sleepless

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've put out a Supernatural fic. I missed writing my boys.

The Winchesters were drained, exhausted from the emotional toll the world was creating. Dean found himself awake as the times he should be sleeping, and he could always hear Sammy pacing in his own room down the hall. They were burnt out, worn down, frayed. Dean had tried to get Cas to help Sam sleep, to help "heal" him, but Sam always refused. Telling him that only if he agreed to get the same treatment. Dean never took it, berating his younger brother, but not pushing him.

One particular night, Dean lay awake on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had been woken from sleep by a horrid dream, the same one that haunted him every night. He felt guilty that it was always the same dream, but short of revealing his darkest secrets to the rebel angel, he would just deal with it on his own. As he was about to get up and raid the kitchen for its alcohol, a soft knock sounded on his door. Grunting his reply, he was not at all surprised to see Sammy, hair all disheveled from sleep, standing in the doorway. 

"What is it Sammy?" Dean hoped his voice didn't sound as annoyed as he thought. He knew it was only a matter of time until Sam came to him. It's the way it has always been, since the beginning. They both would go through bouts of sleeplessness, and Sammy would always make his way to Dean's room. Not for anything risque, but for comfort. For knowing that they were both safe from the terrors of the dark.

"I just wanted... to make sure, ya know?" Sam's voice was raspy, dry from neglect. Dean nodded, the light from the hall illuminating around Sammy like an aura. Dean blinked, and for a sliver of a second, the light seemed to writhe and contort, almost like flames, licking around his brother. Dean's heart skipped a beat, he blinked again but the vision was gone.

"I was about to go to the kitchen for a drink, you want anything?" Dean asked, trying to sound innocent. Sam frowned, seemingly not approving of Dean's intent. The younger Winchester shook his head. Dean felt a chill run through his heart, but didn't pay it any mind. As he walked past Sam into the hall, he caught the faintest smell of smoke. Sweat broke out across his skin, but the smell vanished as quickly as it had arrived. What was happening?

The walk to the kitchen felt long. Longer than it should have. Dean's muscles felt slow, tired, more so than they had just moments ago waking from sleep. He felt as if he was trying to wade through water, everything weighing down on him. He shook his head, blaming it on being just worn out and grabbed a pack of beer from the fridge. He knew he was going to be up for a while, so he might as well take some back to his room. Besides, Sam might change his mind about having a drink. That did usually seem to happen.

As he walked back to his room, the amount of time felt appropriate. He didn't feel weighed down, or slow. But he did catch another smell of smoke. It seemed stronger this time, as if he was walking towards a fire. But he couldn't hear anything, no flames crackling, no feelings of intense heat. And as he sniffed the air again, the smell was gone. And so was Sam. Dean just figured he went back to his room, and didn't pay it any mind.

Sure enough, as the night went on, Dean felt more awake than before. He occupied his time with the beer, and the small TV he had set up near the foot of his bed. There wasn't anything of import on, and he wasn't really watching, it was just something to keep his mind off of it's usual darkness. The hours slowly ticked away, and as he finished the last beer from the case, he finally began to grow tired again. Closing his eyes he prayed for a few restful hours of sleep, but as his mind slowly began to drift away he heard it. A slow, whining growl, guttural and raw, piercing the silence of the bunker. Dean's eyes flew open, his heart pounding in his chest. Sweat broke out across his skin, and that same smell of smoke was now heavy in the air. His lungs rejected his breath, and he coughed, his head swimming. Dean lunged for his bedroom door, the same feeling of slowness from before fully apparent in the smoke filled air. His body felt heavy, weighed down. He coughed again, trying to expel the smoke from his lungs, trying to get fresh air into them. His vision blurred as the lack of oxygen was taking it's course. 

He fell to the ground, only inches from his door, unable to move. His breathing became ragged as his brain frantically told him to inhale. Dean was going to die in his room. The bunker was going to be his tomb. It wasn't supposed to end like this. He wasn't supposed to die in the bunker, away from his brother. Sam. His Sammy. Was he burning alive as Dean lay there? He tried to listen, but all he could hear was that same slow, whining growl. 

Hours seemed to have gone by. The smoke now filled the room, Dean was unable to see his own hands through the haze. He was amazed that he hadn't passed out from the lack of oxygen, but that was of little comfort. Every bone in his body, every muscle, every cell felt as if it had been lit on fire, but there was no actual flames. Just smoke. His lungs felt as if they would collapse, or explode, he wasn't sure which, but he almost prayed for it. The agony was unbearable, more horrifying than any dream he may have had about being burnt alive. As his vision began to grow black, he welcomed the reprieve from the pain. 

Dean didn't dream as he lost consciousness, nor did he realize that it had happened. One moment he knew he was being suffocated alive by smoke, and the next he seemed to blink and everything was back to normal. No smoke, no pain in his lungs, nothing. He had just woken up, his body aching from being on the floor all night, with a killer hangover. His heart pounded, anticipating the smell of smoke, or of flames, but as he sat up nothing happened. It didn't appear that anything had even happened that night. And as he asked Sam about his night later that day, the younger Winchester gave no indication that anything strange happened. Dean felt surly he was going mad. But he never mentioned to his brother.

As the months went on, Dean began to relax. Perhaps it had just been a vivid hallucination. Too much hunting and not enough rest. But whatever the case, he always felt uneasy when he smelled smoke after that.


End file.
